The Silent Observer
by lupinsstar
Summary: OneShot. Hermione watched her parents die, and hasn't spoken a single word since. A story of events from her point of view. Rated for self harm. PLEASE READ AND REVIEW


The Silent Observer

She never spoke. Not since that terrible day. The day when the war against Voldemort was finally won. Not since the day that she had watched her parents die, knowing that she could do nothing about it. She was 18. She got there too late, before she knew what was happening, there was a flash of green light, two quick 'cracks' – the death eaters disapparating, then she saw them. Her mother and father lay still on the living room floor. They were dead. And since that day Hermione Granger had not uttered a single word.

It wasn't for lack of trying. Harry, Ron, the Weasley's, they had all tried to get her to open up. She sat there, listening, hearing what they said, but it never seemed to register. Instead she chose to watch the world, see what was happening. She took in her surroundings, knew more about people than they knew about themselves. She still buried her head in her books, still had the smartness about her that was Hermione Granger, yet she wasn't the old Hermione. The war had changed her, it had changed everyone. But few could understand the agony she felt inside. No one saw the scars that marked her wrists, the fresh cuts appearing every few days. Nothing could break her silence.

Two Years Later – Hermione's P.O.V

Two years ago. Two years ago today in fact. Two years to the day that my parents died, I died. I still don't speak. It isn't a necessary thing for day to day life. I get by, just. The pain is still there. They say it hurts less as time goes by. Whoever said that deserves to be shot. It doesn't get easier, if anything, it gets worse. Just like the cuts on my arms. Harry and Ron have found out now. It was awful. We were sitting together at Harry's house. I only reached out to tap Harry on the shoulder, to show him something in my book, I didn't mean for Ron to look up. I didn't realise he was watching me. So he saw the cuts, the scars that never fade. And yet again they tried to get me to talk, tell them how I felt. Sure, did they really think that after two years off silence that was going to make me speak? Life is much easier without the hassle of speaking. Life is easier to live without telling people things.

I live alone now, in a small flat just outside of London. Within easy distance of the magical world. The world I love, and yet, the world I hate. If I had never been a witch, I would never have fought against Voldemort. I would never have had to watch my parents die. I'll never forget that day. And as long as I remember that day, I'll never speak. It's not like I don't want to speak, I just seem to have forgotten how to. Two years of communicating without words has left no memory of speaking.

I visited my parent's graves this morning, just like I did a year ago today, like I'll do every day for the rest of my life. Just standing there, made me feel all the pain again, just as strong as it was. I wish it would go away. I don't care if I spend the rest of my life as cold as ice. I just want to feel happy, feel love. Voldemort may have destroyed my family, but I'm destroying myself. I can't help it. That day pressed the self-destruct button inside of me. All those years of fighting for good, wasted. I fought among them at the Final Battle in Hogwarts. I brought down Death Eaters, like they brought me down. And even during that, I didn't speak. Thank Merlin for non-verbal incantations.

The guilt is still there. I wish I could go back to that day, and do it over. I'd be there first, and get them away. I'd warn mum and dad of what was coming. Keep them safe, like they kept me safe for all those years. Even when I went to Hogwarts, I still knew that I had my home, and loving parents there to keep me safe. Now I have nothing, just this useless diary. My only outlet for what I feel. A stupid book. It was a present from Ron last Christmas. Amazing really. He said it was to stop me bottling up what I feel. He said it made him sad to see me cry so often. So he gave me this book as a way to at least let out what I'm feeling. So here I am, doing just that.

It hasn't been easy. Ever since my first day at Hogwarts I've been faced with challenges. At first, people didn't like me. They didn't accept me because of my knowledge. Then it was because of my heritage. A muggle-born, hated by Slytherins, "mudblood" they would call me. Things did get better, people would talk to me. People liked me. I had two of the best friends ever, and still do. They care for me. Harry and Ron are two of the only people that even bother with me anymore. These days people leave me be, just how I like it.

The colour in my life is gone. Life exists in only black and white, there is still good and evil. The evil will never go. The evil inside of me will always be there. Longing for that pain, just to feel the satisfaction that I can punish myself for what I did. It was my fault my parents are dead. So this is my punishment. I'm locked inside of myself, two outlets of pain, the cuts that cover my arms, and this book.

So here I am now. Sitting in a small café in Diagon Alley. People give me weird looks. They recognise me, still, from all those years ago. Most think I'm mad. Especially since my way of ordering was simply pointing at what I wanted on the menu. The waitress wasn't impressed. Not that I care what these people think of me. Why should I? As long as they stay away. They don't understand the thoughts that float around in my head. They don't understand the longing I have to speak. One day perhaps, I'll speak again. But for now, I'll stay, as Harry calls me, 'The Silent Observer'.


End file.
